Chapter Eight: The Ten Thousand Things

This chapter continues to explore, in detail, the last two chapters of Anne of Green Gables (and the final scenes of Sullivan's 1985 movie) from Marilla's perspective. I'm not finished yet, though! Look for one or two more chapters before I am done looking into Marilla's mind during the events of the first book. My muse as always remains the beautiful late Colleen Dewhurst.

"Heaven and earth are impartial; they see the ten thousand things as they are.
The wise are impartial; they see the people as they are.
The space between heaven and earth is like a bellows.
The shape changes but not the form; the more it moves, the more it yields.
More words count less. Hold fast to the center."

Tao Te Ching by Lao Tsu

June of Marilla's sixty-sixth year felt heavy and chaotic, as if time both slowed down to reveal the true nature of heartache and sped up to heighten the urgency in matters of planning. It was a strange time, though not unprecedented, when life necessitated balancing the emotions of grief with the daily tasks of making a living. Marilla's days were busy, with errands and meetings in town bookended by the usual chores around the home and farm. Come evening, Marilla and Anne found companionship in their solitude.

The matters most pressing were the finances of Green Gables, and Marilla made several trips to the bank. The siblings had paid off their land some years ago, but there was still the business of harvesting and selling Matthew's fall crop, ongoing upkeep, income, and property taxes. With the loss of their savings and investments at the Abbey Bank, Marilla and Anne were starting over completely. Marilla facilitated the transfer of the family's financial information to the Avonlea Credit Union and met several times with representatives of the new bank to learn the terms of the transfer, though effectively there was none. Because of the failure, Matthew's life insurance policy would not carry over, and the sale of Matthew's last crop would go towards settling outstanding debts. Any income that Green Gables made in the future would be deposited at the Credit Union, but for the time being, the institution functioned simply as a pivot point between Cuthbert debt and assets owed to Abbey.

Marilla's head swirled as she left the bank, she felt slightly nauseous, and she discussed the news with Anne that evening. Was there a farmer in town they could rent their fields to? Was there a friend of the family who had both financial security and a desire to expand who would engage them in a fair offer? Anne offered the Blythes and the Barrys, but John Blythe was a small farmer without much liquid capital and he was getting on in years. John Barry, however, was a successful grain, potato, and beef farmer, he owned the second largest apple orchard in town, and he had relationships with major PEI trading partners. John had a demonstrated desire to engage in a variety of long term investments, so Marilla and Anne decided to pay the Barrys a visit the next day. With income from rent, Marilla calculated that she would be able to pay the property tax, hire a hand, and keep the animals. Providence willing, she would start her savings again and have something to leave to Anne one day.

The third week of June, talks with the Barrys and the bank were going smoothly, and it seemed as though the financial side of life was stabilizing. With this load lighter, Marilla paid a visit to Doctor Spencer to see about her headaches and a new pair of glasses. The previous year, she'd suffered several piercing migraines that she figured were either the cause or the product of her worsening eyesight. Though she'd previously had bad migraines once or twice a year, the past year they'd increased in frequency. Now, the painful spells caused partial to near-total loss of vision and laid her up in bed for a day or two at a time. She'd seen the doctor once, and he'd given her a pair of glasses while advising not to sew or read by candlelight. She followed his orders as best she could, and when they did come, Matthew filled in by providing cold compresses and simple meals. The siblings chose not to tell Anne, and they agreed that they were managing just fine without needing to cause her undue stress at school. Marilla was overdue for a follow-up visit, but with Matthew's heart troubles and the growing stress around the bank in late spring, she'd put it off. Now, she felt her procrastination catching up with her and she regretted her laziness the previous year. Another weight bearing on her shoulders, Marilla felt an acute sense of unease as she left the doctor's office with a stronger set of lenses and an appointment with a visiting oculist for the upcoming week.

In the five years that she'd lived with the Cuthberts, Anne had seen Marilla's migraines only three times. While she hated to see Marilla in pain and out of commission, Anne was happy to help around the house, and each time Marilla seemed just fine the next day. Unaware of the frequency of the migraines or the worsening of her eyesight, Anne traveled to the Queens Academy office of finance in Charlottetown to learn about the terms of her Redmond scholarship. She hadn't told anyone, but she hoped to defer her enrollment to the university while she helped Marilla adjust to the new business arrangements at Green Gables. The office agreed to a deferment of one year, under the condition that she would need to enroll at Redmond the following fall or forfeit the scholarship. The week next, a business letter from Redmond's office of enrollment confirmed and authorized the agreement. With that, Anne set out to further confirm her year at home, and she headed to the Avonlea County School Board office to ask about a schoolhouse appointment for the fall.

A few days later, Anne and Marilla sat reading and sewing on the back porch after supper. The warm summer light was beginning to dim on the distant pine and maple horizon, and Marilla set down her sewing to scan the fields. The colors of the landscape bled together and misty gray bordered their dullness; her thoughts drifted away, and in mourning for their absence, she held on to memories of past routines. When once recollections only visited in dreams, they came lately clearer in waking hours. She remembered walking with her mother out into the fields before supper, meeting Father and Matthew, and all four of them walking in together. How young the world seemed then, with newness and curiosity filling every corner of her childhood. After Mother died, she never really found time to mourn, and she carried her grief by taking upon herself every duty and chore that she'd learned. Father and Matthew were able to process their loss together while they worked, but how alone Marilla felt, and there was nothing to do but pray to God and carry on, strong and restrained. But as life moved forward and she felt it losing its newness and curiosity, she tucked something away just for herself; grief and love, safe and deep and precious.

She also had memories of John Blythe, though they were more faded and harder to remember in daylight. Today it was easier somehow; she'd seen Gilbert in town the other day and was struck by his resemblance to his father at the same age. At twenty-two, Marilla was enamored by nineteen year-old John Blythe. Strong-boned with rugged features, his stocky build bore reminiscence of work in the mountain country. He came from Alberta, where he and his widower father had been prospecting for gold since the strike of '49. But three years later, father and son came back to an empty homestead with nothing more to show of it than bruises on hardened bodies. Around the time John started settling back into farm life, he took a liking to tall, reserved Marilla Cuthbert, whose own dreams of adventure began licking at her boots. She'd never left Avonlea and certainly never courted before; she recoiled at the thought. But John Blythe felt just like a friend. Although people in Avonlea whispered that they were beaus, Marilla just liked spending time with him and thought no more of it. They'd go rambling in the woods, and while John told Marilla of his time sluicing for gold, she taught him the secrets and properties of the Island forests. In the present summer dusk, Marilla remembered those days with unusual clarity. Her eyes were fixed on the fields, but her mind was far away reliving her old, still-tender heartache.

"Why won't you let me kiss you, Marilla?" John's voice was loud as a drum, and it hurt her ears and her heart. In the memory, she felt panicked and uncertain; in the present, she grieved for her own self's past innocence.

"Because I don't love you!" Humiliation burned in her throat. As with the death of her mother before, Marilla again felt life losing its shine and intrigue; it became bleak and cold. There was no time to mourn, and she couldn't justify it to herself anyway. Father and Matthew and Green Gables needed looking after more than they needed her to be carried away by romantic notions. Again, she tucked away something just for herself; regret and faith, safe and deep and precious.

Out of her periphery, Marilla caught a glimpse of Anne's red hair shimmering from the reflection of the gas lamp beyond the window. Marilla sighed as the present shifted back into focus and memories retreated. In a silent prayer, she thanked God for Anne; her intelligence and courage, most of all her presence. She sighed again, and the sudden corporeal tone snapped Anne out of her poetic reverie.

Though the light was fading, Anne figured she still had a good fifteen minutes to read before needing to fetch a lamp. But she placed her book down, turned slightly, and scanned Marilla's profile. With a posture slightly bent and a countenance that appeared troubled by far-away thoughts, Marilla's eyes looked glassy, focused on nothing in particular but the middle distance. Anne studied Marilla's face for a while, and then her thoughts drifted to the year ahead, where she mused upon the 'certain uncertainty' of her dreams and plans. After a while, a new warmth on Anne's hand drew her face upwards to meet Marilla's smile. Marilla's gray-blue eyes were focused squarely on Annes' and her face bore an uncommon gentleness that echoed in admiration.

"Lost in thought, Marilla?" Anne jested playfully.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe I was. I was thinking about you and Matthew – in the beginning."

"Do you think of him often?" Anne asked sadly.

"I do. Long summer nights like this, he used to stay out in the fields late; I'd come out here and watch for him sometimes. But then, he always came in for supper when you came – that's what I was thinking about. I reckon he always thought of you as a daughter."

"You too?" Anne asked quietly after a moment, suddenly bashful.

"Anne Shirley–" Marilla hesitated awkwardly and then felt the sting of unexpected tears. But she cleared her throat and gently squeezed Anne's hand. "Of course." Then, after a while longer, "do you think of Matthew?"

"Oh, Marilla, I do. I told Mrs. Allen today that often I feel as if he is not really gone, but just away. And then I come back to real life, and the remembering of him being gone hurts all over again. It's so difficult to see the road as a straight line anymore, with everything in its place. But now I think, and Mrs. Allen told me this, that there really are no straight roads, are there? Always a bend, and I'm beginning to understand that the exciting part of life is to walk along and see what's beyond. I can picture Matthew in heaven looking down on us from above; it's so beautiful to think that he can see what's ahead, even when we can't, don't you think, Marilla?"

"Yes, I do."

The chirping of crickets in the cooling evening beckoned Marilla and Anne inside, and they slept that night with the faith that whatever was beyond the next bend they would meet and weather together.